To a World Gone Astray
by Nostrademons
Summary: It’s Harry’s third year, and he’s haunted by strange dreams and visions. But behind every vision is an inner reality, and what will Harry do when he’s faced with the ultimate choice – save his friends or vanquish his enemies?
1. Streets

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The song is from the rock opera Streets, performed by Savatage, lyrics by Paul O'Neill.  No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  Also, this fic contains references to fairytales and other fanfics – see if you can catch them all. 

Author's Note: Although this doesn't actually break canon, it bends it pretty liberally in places.  Those of you who don't like this might do well to consider it an AU.  

--

**

Chapter 1  
Streets

**

*****

_As darkness falls so hard  
Come and play_

It was the two days before the end of the summer holidays, and Harry sat alone in his Leaky Cauldron room.  Alone, that is, except for an exceptionally talkative mirror.

"C'mon Harry.  You can't waste your entire vacation holed up in here!  Get out and have some fun!" the mirror said.

"I haven't wasted it.  I've been out nearly every day since I got here.  But there's only so many knots and grooves I can admire on the Firebolt, and I've tried nearly every flavor that Florean Fortescue offers.  If I don't lay off the ice cream, I'll end up bigger than Dudley.  What else is there to _do?"_

"Who says you need to _do anything?  Why don't you go bask in the sunshine or something?"_

Harry looked at the mirror as if it were more than a little unusual.  "People don't bask.  Snakes do.  And besides, the sun's almost down."

"Well, then go set the Monster Books loose or something.  Goodness knows we've needed some excitement in these parts.  Only don't tell anyone I set you up to it, or I'll be doing bathroom duty for the next month.  You wouldn't believe what we see in there…"

Harry cut the mirror off before it could say any more.  "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me," he said, noticing the twinkle in the mirror's glass.  "Planning a little rendezvous with a special someone?" he teased.

"Yep, I just want you gone so I can continue my sordid affair with the fireplace.  Puh-lease.  I'm an inanimate object – I spend all my time nailed to the wall.  It's not like I'm about to be swept off my mountings by a common bedroom fixture."

"Hey!  I resent that remark," came the fireplace's gruff voice.  Harry jumped – it had spoken only a couple times before, and Harry hadn't quite got used to it yet.  Being in a room full of talking magical artifacts was a new experience, and it could be a little disconcerting at first.

"I didn't mean it, dear," said the mirror.  "Actually, I think you're kind of hot."  The fireplace seemed subtly pleased with that, the logs inside it stacking up just a little straighter.  Harry couldn't help but chuckle a little.

The mirror continued: "Mr. Potter here's looking for something to do.  Any suggestions?"

"Well, when I was a boy, we'd have belching competitions to see who could spit the most soot into Muggle London.  Quite fun actually; although once this lady flew in with an umbrella and had her chimney sweep friend clean me out.  That wasn't fun at all – he may have been a tiny chimney sweep, but he had an enormous broom!"

Harry exchanged a glance with the mirror, which appeared to be snickering quietly to itself.  "Er, that must have been nice, but I don't think it'll do me much good.  I've never been one to belch soot, you see, and even if I did, I don't have anyone to compete with."

"More's the pity, more's the pity," the fireplace went on, and then began regaling Harry with tales of its youth.  Harry tuned most of it out.  His idea of fun was not having a heart-to-heart with the hearth.  Fires were nice and warm and comfortable, but really quite boring to talk about.

"And then there's always the Floo network…" he heard it say.

Floo network, Floo network.  Where had Harry heard of that before?  Of course – that's how he'd gotten to Diagon Alley last year.  Except…he had taken a brief detour through the shady dealings of Knockturn Alley first.

Knockturn Alley.  Now there was an unpleasant place.  Harry shuddered a little, thinking of the sinister shops and dark dead-ends it held.  Yet it also held a certain allure.  It was certainly a change from the bright yet familiar stores along Diagon Alley.  Perhaps a brief late-afternoon tour wouldn't be so bad, as long as he was back by dark.

After all, he _had defeated Riddle's diary last spring.  He was a year older, and had learned much in that time.  And it was only a quick jaunt.  He'd just take a look, satisfy his curiosity, and be back for dinner.  What harm could come of that?_

"Thanks for your help, Mr. Fireplace," he interrupted, cutting off its tale of a jolly bearded fellow and a fire that had been left burning a tad too long.  

"What did I do?" said the fireplace, perplexed.  It didn't seem too happy about having its stories interrupted, but even fireplaces are grateful for gratitude.

"Gave me an idea.  I'm heading to Knockturn Alley – it's about the only place around here that I haven't already explored."

"Knockturn Alley?  But Fudge told you to stick to Diagon Alley!  He'll have my figurehead for this if I let you go!" the mirror said.

"Fudge said not to wander into Muggle London.  I'm not – this is still part of the wizarding world.   I just want to explore a little, check the place out.  I'll be back by dinnertime."

"I still think it's a bad idea.  All sorts of nasty things happen in Knockturn Alley, and people have been known to vanish entirely.  The streets are really dimly lit and twist around in circles.  You'll end up getting lost and depriving us of your company!"

"Didn't you just want to get rid of me?  Besides, it's only for an hour or so.  What could happen?" Harry asked.

"In case you've forgotten, Harry, the last time you went exploring you came across an unconscious girl, a basilisk, and a homicidal diary," said the mirror, it's voice bordering on hysterics.  "Trouble seems to have a knack for finding you, and I'm not going to be responsible if you run off and end up meeting You-Know-Who again!  And Fudge said you had to be back here by dark!  Look, the sun's already low.  You're going to get lost out there, and then the innkeeper'll come up here to see where you are, and I'll have to tell him you went to see Knockturn Alley, and then all hell'll break lose and I'll be lucky to find myself in one piece."

"Oh, do be quiet," Harry replied, putting on his shoes.  "I'm going.  I'll be back long before dark."  Harry walked out the door, leaving the mirror ranting to an empty room.

*****  
_Somewhere  
Out there  
Alone and out of place  
Streets of illusion  
Sooth the shattered faith_

It didn't take long for Harry to find himself in the twisting passageways of Knockturn Alley.  The streets were narrower here, but had none of the bustle and crowd of Diagon Alley.  Harry passed by one particularly dilapidated storefront that looked like it hadn't had a living soul occupy it for fifty years.

"Sylvia's Spirit Shop," the sign read.  "Purveyor of fine equipment for ghosts, spirits, haunts, and poltergeists."  Figures, Harry thought.  A dead house for dead people.

Harry walked over to the storefront and pressed his face up against the glass.  He couldn't see much inside; it appeared to be totally dark.  Just what could a ghost need in the afterlife, anyway?  Chains, maybe, though that seemed to be rather clichéd among ghosts today.  He'd have to ask Nearly Headless Nick when he got back to Hogwarts.

He peered deeper into the shop and found himself staring into the wispy and unsubstantial face of what had once been an old lady.  Her face and body looked as if they had been cut into ribbons in a most grotesque fashion.  Harry jumped backwards with a start – he had expected that all the shopkeepers would at least have all their internal organs intact.  He tried to avert his eyes, as it seemed somehow rude (not to mention nauseating) to look at someone who didn't have all her skin on.

"Move along now," she said in a voice that reminded Harry of the anti-smoking commercials Uncle Vernon was always making fun of.  "If you're not going to buy, don't stand there scaring away customers."

Harry decided it wasn't prudent to argue with an angry ghost – he might end up looking worse than she did - and headed down the street a couple stores.  He found himself underneath the "Welcome to Knockturn Alley" sign.  Apparently the store here had diversified since his last visit, since it was now selling numerous varieties of mischievous candle products.  The display window included Laughing Candles, Floating Candles, Ghostly Glow Candles, and High-As-A-Kite Candles.  Down in front, a sign read "Procrastination Candles – the favorite of university students everywhere".  Harry had heard of these – while lit, they prevented anyone who inhaled the smoke from doing anything productive.  A couple of unscrupulous wizard businessmen had introduced them to Muggle university campuses, and they had caught on like wildfire.  He didn't doubt that they'd be showing up at Hogwarts soon, though he figured Professor McGonagall would put a quick stop to that practice.

He briefly considered buying some of the more harmless products.  Laughing or Floating candles might be a neat prank to play on his dorm mates, and he doubted that they could be all _that_ dangerous.  But then he remembered the mirror's rather theatrical performance when he had mentioned even _visiting_ Knockturn Alley, and shuddered to think of what it would do if he actually bought something here.  For that matter, he doubted Fudge or any other authority figure would be very pleased with him.  He moved on, giving the candles one last look.

The next couple of stores were either boarded up or closed.  He passed by the spider store, where two enormous spiders appeared to be untangling their legs.  Ron would just _love_ this shop … if Harry ever managed to drag him within a hundred meters of it.   An unsettling feeling came over him, and so he hurried onwards.  

Next was a store called "Ye Olde Arcane Rituals", and then, on the other side of the street, Borgin and Burkes.  Harry paused briefly and pondered going inside, but decided against it, remembering what transpired last year when he ended up in there.  Nothing in there could possibly interest him – he hoped.

The shadows were growing longer now, and Harry figured it was time for him to head back to the Leaky Cauldron.  Because of Knockturn Alley's narrowness, much of the street was cast in darkness, and it wouldn't be long before Harry would have to find his way back in the dark.  He didn't much like the prospect of this – aside from this being Knockturn Alley, where scary things happened after dark, he would have to deal with the innkeeper and Cornelius Fudge if he came back much after nightfall.  They wouldn't be pleased, to say the least.

That unnerving feeling came back, a sense that someone was nearby.  He turned around and scanned the street – nobody.  He shuddered, remembering what had transpired right before the Knight Bus picked him up.  This felt similar somehow, as if he was being watched.  He couldn't be, though – no one was around.  Unless… unless what was watching him wasn't human.    Harry didn't want to think about that.  He began to turn around, planning to head back immediately.

And then he saw it, in the alleyway besides Borgin and Burkes.  A pair of gleaming dark eyes.  A hulking black canine form.  It was the dog he had seen on Magnolia Crescent, the death omen from Flourish and Blotts.  It let out a low growl, and its eyes fixed on Harry.  He did the first thing that came to mind.  He ran.

*****

_I've been a runner  
I've been a sinner  
I've been inside my head  
I sit here staring  
Never quite caring  
And this is where it has led_

Harry ran until he had reached the end of the network of narrow streets and cobblestone paths that comprised Knockturn Alley.  Heart pounding, he forced himself to think over the situation rationally.  A death omen?  It couldn't be – it was just an ordinary dog.  This place must have tons of strays around.  No need to worry about overgrown supernatural mutts.  Now, which way out?  The sun was down now, and the last glimmers of twilight would soon be fading away. 

He looked around, taking stock of his surroundings.  He was in a cul-de-sac, hemmed in by the backs of three storefronts.  A stack of crates lay piled up by one wall, but there was no way out other than the path by which he had come.  He _could_ go back that way, but there were reasons other than the dog to avoid it.  Knockturn Alley becomes a dangerous place after dark, full of shady dealings.  He needed some form of protection before he was willing to brave that.

He wished he had remembered to bring his wand with him.  As incompetent as Lockhart had been, he _had _managed to teach Harry some of the basics of dueling, and Harry felt confident in his ability to hold off an attacker long enough to run away, at least.  But that was with magic – without a wand, he was no better off than an ordinary Muggle.  What he needed was a weapon.

Perhaps there was something in one of those crates.  These shops sold all sorts of things; maybe some of their discarded inventory would be useful.  The stack was taller than he was; he'd have to stretch the reach in.  He stood on tiptoe and dangled his hand over the edge of the top box…

…and promptly lost his balance as the crates came tumbling down on him.  Shaken but relatively unhurt, he stood up and brushed himself off.  Someone else would have to worry about the crates, for the wall behind them now caught Harry's eye.  Two bricks stuck out at unnatural angles, looking decidedly out of place.  Harry walked over and touched one of them – nothing.  He tried twisting it – it seemed to give a little, but nothing much happened.  Then he grabbed both bricks, and pushed.

The wall disappeared.  Or rather, a man-sized section of the wall disappeared.  Harry peered through the opening.  It led to a bustling, well-lit alleyway, full of apparently reputable wizards and witches.  "Saikik Alley", the street sign read.  Well, wherever it was, it was better than heading back through the twists and turns of Knockturn Alley in the dark.  With any luck, there'd be an opening to Diagon Alley on the other side.  

Stepping through the opening, Harry found himself in the middle of wide thoroughfare.  There was nothing behind him – apparently, this entrance was one-way only.  To his right, a shop sold Remembralls of all different sizes, shapes, colors, and flavors.  (Flavors?  Who'd need to taste their Remembrall?)  A little further down on the left, a building apparently served as a school for wannabe psychics.  Its sign advertised: "Develop your latent psychic talent!  You too can know what other people _really_ think about you!"  Although Harry could understand the appeal of this, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know everything that other people thought – some things were better left unsaid.    He moved on.

A fortuneteller was practicing her craft at a makeshift table by the side of the road.  Normally Harry would have passed on by, but there was one question that had been nagging at the back of his mind since his visit to Flourish and Blotts.  He pulled a couple of Sickles out of his pocket and sat down for a reading.

"Interesting, very interesting indeed," she began, taking his palm in her hand.  "Such a tragic past – poor boy, it must haunt you constantly."  

Harry squirmed a little at that – he did not want to be reminded of this.  "Can we get to the future please?" he said.

"I'm getting there.  To see the future, we must first understand the present.  Patience, my boy, and all will reveal itself.  Ah yes, a student at Hogwarts.  Mischievous and impulsive – that may get you into trouble.  A couple of devoted friends, but few connections besides them."  She paused, concentrating on the pattern of lines on his hand.  "I see many threads here, many possible futures.  The future is what we make of it, so my readings can never be one hundred percent certain."

That was it?  Harry felt gypped.  "Then what the heck am I paying you for?  I've heard much the same from Professor Dumbledore!"

"I'm not finished yet," the fortuneteller calmly replied.  She closed her eyes, and intoned: "One thread stands out above the others.  It seems you are in for a difficult year.  The past will come back to haunt you.  Old enemies may seem your friends, and old friends may seem your enemies.  You may find out things about yourself you never wished to know.   Beware the forest – unpleasant things live there.  And remember – life is more than just eating, sleeping, and breathing."  Her eyes flicked open.

"Umm, yeah, thank you," Harry said, standing up.  That was thoroughly disappointing.  A good fortuneteller could at least have avoided speaking in riddles.  All that, and he still knew nothing more about that dog that kept popping up.  At least it was only a couple of Sickles – any more, and he would have seriously considered reporting her to the Department of Gypsy Fraud.

He walked on down the street, mindful of the need to get home before the innkeeper came to check on him.  This came out on Diagon Alley, right?  He certainly hoped so.  It was nighttime now, and Harry did _not_ want to go back the way he came.  The stores here were fascinating, though – Harry couldn't wait to show Ron and Hermione.  All sorts of arcane lore graced the sides of this alley, and they would eat it up.

Saikik Alley ended in a large open plaza.  A fountain stood in the center, its pool surrounding a statue of a cherub.  No sign of Diagon Alley anywhere.  Heart sinking, Harry decided to try asking around before braving the trip back through Knockturn Alley.

"Excuse me sir, can I get to Diagon Alley from here?" he asked, pulling aside a passing old wizard.

The wizard didn't speak, but merely pointed to the statue.

Harry walked over to the fountain, wondering what he was supposed to do.  He climbed up on the edge of the pool.  Was it the water?  The statue?  He dipped his feet into the water.  Nothing happened.  He walked over to the statue and tried pulling an arm.  Still nothing.  Then he tried clasping his hand over the cherub's outstretched palm.  The cold granite fingers wrapped around his, he felt an odd warmth, and then…

…he stood in front of Ollivander's Wands.  Apparently this portal was also one-way only, as there was nothing that indicated a way back to Saikik Alley.  He'd have to drag Ron and Hermione through Knockturn Alley if he wanted to show them his new discovery, but at least he knew –or thought he knew - the way.  Giddy with anticipation, he headed back to the Leaky Cauldron.

*****

_These streets  
Glitter in the dark  
Don't sleep  
Red eyes sunken and stark  
Dream deep  
In her arms where you are safe  
These streets  
Never sleep still they never wake_

When Harry met Ron and Hermione the next day, the first thing on his mind was his discovery of Saikik Alley.  In the excitement of seeing his friends, though, it soon slipped away, and he found himself regaling them with tales of blown up aunts while nibbling at ice cream.  After that, Hermione bought a most disagreeable cat, and they headed back to the Leaky Cauldron.  By dinnertime, Saikik Alley was hidden in the far recesses of his memory, and he and Hermione found themselves listening to tales of the Weasley's Egypt adventure.

"The pyramids must have been so interesting!" Hermione managed to interject in between Percy's bragging about how the tour guides were so impressed with his knowledge.  "All that history in the middle of the desert.  It must have felt like you'd been transported back three thousand years."

"Yep," said Fred – or was it George?  "We were hoping they'd use Percy as a demonstration of the mummification process, but they said he's too stiff already and could go straight into the sarcophagus."

Everybody except Percy laughed a little at this.  Mrs. Weasley shot George – Fred? – a warning look, but Harry could see her eyes twinkling too.  Percy's lack of a sense of humor was legendary, and just about everyone agreed that he needed to be taken down a peg or ten occasionally.

Percy snorted.  "That particular tour guide didn't know anything.  He said the bodies were embalmed with napalm instead of natron.  I had to correct him before Fred and George got any ideas," he said.

"Too bad," Gred – or whoever the other twin was – replied.  "Exploding Corpses could have been a neat pastime, sort of like Exploding Snap.  Hey, maybe we can make a business out of it!"  

"Fred," said his father sternly.  "The last time you two got near explosives, you nearly blew up Gryffindor tower.  Not to mention earning yourselves a month's detention.  That will not happen again.  Do you hear me?  Not again."

"Aww, Dad," said George.  "Now someone else will end up patenting the idea, while we remain poor Weasleys."

"The issue is closed.  Ginny, weren't you just itching to tell Harry about your little experience with the mummy?"

Ginny blushed furiously and looked down at her plate.  She squirmed a little but remained silent – evidently they wouldn't be hearing her story any time soon.

"C'mon Ginny," Fred said.  "Tell him about how you were so _scared_ that…"

Mrs. Weasley cut him off.  "Fred, if Ginny doesn't want to tell the story, that doesn't give you the right to tell it for her.  Besides, we all know how you like to embellish," she scolded.

"Oh all right," he said.  "We can talk about the time George and I wrapped ourselves in bandages and crept up behind Ron.  Boy, did he jump.  I've never seen someone run through those tunnels so fast."

Now it was Ron's turn to blush scarlet.  Harry empathized with him a little – nobody likes to be made fun of in public, particularly not in front of his friends.  But in a way, he envied Ron for all the good-natured teasing of his brothers.  It showed how close his family was, that they could ridicule each other and still remain on good terms at the end of the day.  If Harry said anything remotely negative about Dudley, he got locked in his cupboard for a month.  _We can only hurt the ones we love, and then it shows just how much we love them_, he thought.

The conversation then turned to Percy's appointment as Head Boy, a somewhat less interesting topic.  Fred and George kept up their wisecracks, which seemed infinitely funnier when directed at Percy, who just seemed to invite it.  Percy's comments about rule breaking, however, jolted alive the memory of Saikik Alley, and Harry suddenly felt the overwhelming need to share his discovery with someone.

When dinner ended, Harry pulled Ron and Hermione aside.  "I've got something to tell you," he told them.

"Is it important?" Hermione said, yawning.  "I'm tired, and we've got a big day tomorrow."

"Yes," he answered.  "I went exploring yesterday – started with Knockturn Alley, but that's not what this is about."

Hermione and Ron's eyes widened at this.  Now fully awake, Hermione interrupted.  "Knockturn Alley?  Are you crazy?  That's a dangerous place – if Fudge knew, you'd be in really serious trouble.  I hope you aren't asking us to go back there with you."

"Will you shut up and let me finish?  Anyway, while I was exploring there, I came across this portal to a whole 'nother street.  It's called Saikik Alley, and it has all sorts of really cool shops and stuff.  There's fortunetellers, and training courses, and lots of bookstores" – Hermione seemed to perk up a little at this – "and lots of neat magical devices."

"And you want us to come explore it with you?" said Ron.

"Exactly," said Harry.

"Sounds cool.  I'm always up for a change of surroundings," said Ron.

"But Harry," Hermione objected, "do we have to go through Knockturn Alley to get there?"

"Umm, well," Harry said, "I haven't found any other entrance.  It's not like we'd be lingering long though.  We just walk to the end and twist a couple bricks and we're out of Knockturn Alley."

Hermione didn't seem convinced.  "Absolutely not.  Harry, Knockturn Alley's a dangerous place after dark.  All sorts of Dark Magic go on there.  Remember what happened when you ended up there last year?  Even just passing through, we're liable to be kidnapped or worse.  To say nothing of the trouble we'd be in if the adults found out!"

"Relax, Hermione," Ron said.  "It's not like Harry never came back from last year's adventure.  We'll be going together, we've all been trained in dueling, and to be honest, you're the most frightening witch I've ever known."  Harry chuckled inwardly at that – sometimes, Hermione's knowledge did seem a little scary.

"Fine then, you guys can go.  Don't expect me to tag along though!"  With that, Hermione turned around and headed upstairs, leaving Ron and Harry alone in the parlor.

"Suit yourself!" Ron called after her.  Turning to Harry, he suggested, "How about we meet down here after Percy goes to sleep?  We're in the next room over, so you should be able to hear his snoring."

"Okay.  See you then.  Don't forget your wand – we want to be prepared in case we meet anything in Knockturn Alley."

On that note, they each headed upstairs to their rooms.

*****

_Somewhere, out there  
Gardens bloom and grow  
Children awaken  
To a world they know_

Harry had to wait quite a long while before Percy fell asleep.  Percy's Head Boy badge and Scabbers's rat tonic had disappeared, prompting an argument that kept most of the Leaky Cauldron awake.  Seeking to end this confrontation, Harry headed downstairs to look for the missing items.  

He found more than he bargained for, though.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were having an argument in the parlor, an argument about … him?  Yes – they were debating whether to tell him certain information.  Information that Sirius Black was after him.

Harry headed back upstairs, having found the rat tonic under a table.  Was this excursion still a good idea?  Most people didn't head into the center of Dark Magic with one of Voldemort's top Death Eaters after them.  He could still change his mind – Ron might be disappointed, but he would understand.

Ron and Percy's door was open, so he just walked in, handed Ron the tonic, and left.  He was sorely tempted to tell Percy that Fred and George had his (Big)Head Boy badge, just to shut him up.  But in the end, he decided to let the twins have their fun and hope that Percy would just give up and go to sleep.  He headed back to his own room to wait.

Harry's thoughts returned to Black.  Thirteen Muggles with one curse!  Harry doubted that any magic they could work would have an effect on a hardened criminal like Black.  Black wouldn't take prisoners either – if he wanted Harry dead, Harry would die.  Certainly, the Leaky Cauldron was a safer place than nighttime in Knockturn Alley.

On the other hand, there was still some question as to whether Black was anywhere _near_ London.  He'd kept repeating, "He's at Hogwarts" while in Azkaban; logically, that would be the first place he'd look.  And as evil as Knockturn Alley was, it was still in the heart of wizarding London.  Harry doubted Black would be foolish enough to walk into a place that was frequented by large crowds of wizards, any one of whom might recognize him.  If Black were to try anything, there'd be witnesses around to help.  Besides, Harry and his friends would only be in Knockturn Alley for a couple minutes.

The shouting next door had died down, replaced by a heavy snoring.  Percy was asleep, finally.  

Harry scowled at the ceiling.  There was probably nothing to worry about; why was he agonizing so much over this?  He wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade this year; he might as well have a little fun while he could.  They'd be back in an hour or so, anyway.

He was just about to head downstairs when the memory of the beast on Magnolia Crescent passed through his consciousness.  He shivered involuntarily.  It couldn't be a death omen – not this early, at least.  The fortuneteller had implied that he'd at least live to get to Hogwarts.  Surely, this one excursion wouldn't lead to anything.

_What to do when you know the worst is coming…_ he thought.  Well, he certainly wouldn't just lie in bed and brood about it.  Might as well go out and have some fun first.  He put on his shoes, and headed downstairs to meet Ron.

*****

_Somewhere there's sunshine  
Somewhere the light's kind  
Somewhere they seek the day  
Somewhere there's no scene  
Somewhere the air's clean  
But somewhere is so far away_

Ron was already waiting in the parlor when Harry arrived.  He sat in a chair by the fireplace, twiddling his thumbs.  "All set?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied.  No point worrying Ron about Sirius Black.  They headed towards the door.

"Wait!" came a familiar voice from the top of the stairs.  Hermione stood there, dressed as if she would be accompanying them.  Figured, that she would change her mind.

"Weren't you going to sleep or something?" Ron said.  "I thought this was all too _dangerous_, and you had _better_ things to do, and we'd all get in _trouble_."  Harry had to admit that Ron could pull off a decent parody of Hermione's voice.

"With all the racket you guys were making?  I don't think I'd have made it to sleep before daybreak.  No doubt the other patrons feel the same way."

Ron grinned sheepishly, though he didn't seem very repentant.

"Hermione, are you coming with us or not?" asked Harry.

She shrugged.  "I guess so.  Somebody's got to keep you guys out of trouble."  She started down the stairs, holding herself like an arrogant debutante.

"Taking her bloody time, too," Ron whispered to Harry.  "At least if some beast comes chasing us, they'll catch her first."

"I heard that, Ronald Weasley!"  

Ron stuck his tongue out at her.  Hermione looked as if she was about to turn her back on them and head right back to her room.  

Harry felt the need to try and bring some peace to his feuding friends.  "Look, Hermione, either you're in this with us or you don't come along at all.  We don't need the company of Miss High-And-Mighty right now."  

Hermione seethed, apparently furious that Harry had taken Ron's side.

"And Ron, save your sniping for your brothers.  They actually enjoy it."

Ron didn't seem too happy about that, but he held his tongue.

"Good, let's go then.  You'll like this place, trust me."

They headed out the door and entered the bustle of the nighttime streets.

*****

_These streets  
Glitter in the dark  
Don't sleep  
Red eyes sunken and stark  
Dream deep  
In her arms where you are safe  
These streets  
Never sleep still they never wake_

Knockturn Alley seemed completely different at night.  Instead of being decrepit but harmless structures, the stores took on a sinister quality to them, like sentinels guarding some dark secret.  They stood high above either side of the street, casting long shadows in the pale moonlight.  The streets themselves seemed alive, but in a perverted, twisted way.  Everything was different – the night brought out the true character of Knockturn Alley.

Harry was glad that he had both of his friends with him.  If he got lost (which seemed increasingly likely now), at least they'd be lost together.  

"Umm, Harry, do you know where we are?" Ron asked.

"Of course I do.  We're in Knockturn Alley."  Well, it sounded better than "We're lost."

"Good.  I'd hate to think we were lost," Ron said.  

Hermione clung to his arm now.  Her earlier bravado was completely gone now – she seemed even more spooked by Knockturn Alley than Harry and Ron.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.  "Are you sure it's safe here?"  A cat screeched in the distance, making them all flinch.

"Of course it is.  We've got you to keep us out of trouble, remember?"  Harry knew that was a little unkind of him, but he couldn't resist.  The scared, trembling Hermione that was now hanging on to his arm seemed so different from the cocky, self-assured girl that had stood at the top of the stairs.

"And if something does come to eat us, they'll get you first," added Ron.  He chortled a little bit, but it was a nervous chuckle, not his typical mocking laugh.

"That's not funny, Ron," Hermione replied.

Ron just shrugged apologetically.

After a few more minutes of seemingly walking in circles, the streets seemed to straighten out.  Harry spotted Borgin and Burkes up ahead, and pointed out that they were at least headed in the right direction.  

"Look Ron, there's the spider shop.  Want to go check it out?" Harry asked.

"Let's walk on the other side of street," Ron replied.  Harry snickered inwardly.

They were just one shop away from Borgins and Burkes now.  Harry tried to remember where he had run after he'd seen the dog.    Left, then two rights.  Or was it right, then two lefts?  It had all seemed so blurred at the time – he had been more intent on getting away from whatever was in the shadows than in remembering where he went at the time.  Harry hoped he hadn't led his friends all the way out here only to forget where the entrance was.

Hermione interrupted his thoughts with a tug on the sleeve.  "Harry," she whispered.  "Do you hear voices?"

Harry was about to reply that no, he was not going insane, when his ears perked up.  Sure enough, voices were coming from inside Borgin and Burkes.

Apparently, they had stumbled across one of those shady deals that Knockturn Alley was so famous for.

*****

_Welcome children  
From the other side  
In the darkness  
Your eyes are opened wide_

Harry pulled his two friends into the alley besides Borgin and Burkes'.  Hermione's eyes widened – Harry doubted that she had expected to actually run into anyone.  He put his finger to his lips and motioned Ron and Hermione to be silent.  From here, they could hear snatches of conversation from inside the shop.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy, we have a full range of goods available…" said the shopkeeper.  Lucius Malfoy!  Harry had seen him in this very shop last year, but he had been selling that time.  What could he be interested in now?  Up to no good, no doubt.

"Good, Mr. Borgin.  As I'm sure you know, dealing with me can be quite … lucrative.  Assuming, of course, that I receive the highest quality merchandise.  The Malfoys are not known to forgive those who cheat them."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Malfoy," said Borgin, a little nervously.  "Now, if you'd like to browse our display case…"

"That little snake," Ron spat.  "No wonder Draco's so nasty.  Like father, like son."

Harry shushed him hastily.  It wouldn't do to be overheard.

The three of them peeked around the corner, trying to get a glimpse of what Borgin was selling.  By sticking just their necks out, they found they could see in through the glass storefront, but still weren't too visible.

Lucius held something that looked like a human femur.  From the bits of conversation that Harry overheard, he and Borgin appeared to be haggling over the price.  

"Five Galleons!  Outrageous!  I could get one of these in the cemetery for free, and you're charging five bloody galleons?!"

"These have been specially treated…" Harry strained to hear the rest of the conversation, but Borgin had suddenly dropped his voice.  The exchange ended with Lucius handing over a couple gold coins for the bone.

"Gross!" Hermione said, her voice a hushed but disgusted whisper.  Harry was inclined to agree – human bones belonged in the ground, not on some store counter.  He shuddered to think of what Lucius would be doing with those bones.

The next item was a clear, glass pendant, suspended from a silver chain.  Harry had no idea what it was, but Lucius had evidently bought one before.

"Ah yes, one of those," Borgin said.  "It's been a good, what, ten years since you bought the last one?"

"Thirteen," replied Lucius.

"Who's the lucky victim this time?" Borgin asked, chuckling softly.

"I'm babysitting MacNair's nephew next week.  I figured it was the perfect opportunity to ensure the loyalty of one more servant."

The manner in which Lucius said this sent chills up Harry's spine.  It seemed as if he thought nothing of using a child to gain power over his rivals.  Even though Harry had no idea what the pendant did, it didn't seem pleasant.

"…twenty three galleons," he overheard.  Lucius didn't seem to happy about this, but he handed over the money.

They went through a couple more items, none of which looked too pleasant.  Harry was beginning to get uncomfortable – he was squatting, his head craned at an unnatural angle to peer around the corner, and both his thighs and neck had begun to hurt.

Evidently, Ron and Hermione had similar difficulties.  "Oww!" came Hermione's voice.  "Ron, your elbow's crushing my spine."

"Duck, then.  I've got to stand on tiptoes to see over your head."

Harry quickly quieted his friends.  They did _not_ want to be discovered.  His gaze returned to Lucius and Borgin, making sure they hadn't noticed.  They were on the last piece of merchandise now, a round oval shape that looked much like a piece of polished obsidian.

"That's a Soul Vortex," explained Borgin.  "When activated, it'll consume any nearby souls that are not firmly attached to a body.  They're usually used for getting rid of haunts, dealing with ghosts and stuff, but they can be deadly to sleeping and unconscious people too."

"How easy are they to activate?  Do I have to worry about setting it off accidentally?" 

"Not easy.  A wizard has to concentrate intently for a couple of minutes before it goes off.  It'll start glowing and humming, too, so you have warning.  It's not going to kill your sleeping wife and children if they roll onto it…"

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about _them_," said Lucius.

Lucius asked a couple more questions, and then handed Mr. Borgin some coins.  He stuffed the Soul Vortex into a pocket, and started packing up his purchases.

A startling thought came to Harry.  This alleyway wasn't very deep, and one of the few streetlamps in Knockturn Alley was positioned directly across from it.  It wouldn't be possible to hide in the shadows here, not if someone was in the street.  And Lucius would be walking right by them when he left the store.

"Quick," he told Ron and Hermione.  "We can't stay here – Lucius'll see us on his way out.  We need to find somewhere else to hide!"

The three of them had just crept out of the alleyway when Lucius emerged from the store.

*****

_Here there are answers  
On the edge dancers  
Here the night hides our sins  
And if you listen  
While the streets glisten  
Here's where our story begins_

Lucius spotted them almost at once.  His features took on a menacing cast, his lips turned into a sneer.  "So, we have a trio of eavesdroppers.  Little brats probably never learned to mind their own business.  Tsk tsk.  Well, you'll find out soon enough that Knockturn Alley does not appreciate people who meddle in others affairs."

He started advancing towards the three children.  Harry found himself riveted in place by fear. His legs had turned to stone – he couldn't move even if he wanted to. 

"All three of you've been naughty," Lucius continued.  "And here, we punish naughty children."

He took out his wand and pointed it at Harry.

The sudden, imminent danger broke the spell that held Harry in place.  "Run!" he shouted.  All three of them bolted, running past Lucius in a fit of pure adrenalin.

Ron was narrowly missed by a _stupefy_ spell that Lucius had cast.  Harry could hear his footfalls behind him, while farther back, Hermione's labored breathing told him that she was still with him too.  "Follow me!" he yelled, hoping to stay together.  

The terror that gripped him now was far worse than anything the dog had caused.  This enemy was real; somewhere out there, an angry Lucius Malfoy waited with wand in hand.  He had to get away, had to put some distance between him and Draco's evil father.

He vaguely heard Hermione cry out "Wait!" behind him.  He couldn't: his legs were running with a fury that was all their own now.  He had to move, had to run.  Conscious mind was submerged under his animal instincts, thought buried under the primitive fight-or-flight response.  

Buildings passed by in a blur, none recognizable.  He wasn't paying much attention to them – the only thing that mattered was that he put as much distance between him and Lucius as possible.  He had no idea where he was.  Any sense of direction had long been lost to the twisty, shifty streets of Knockturn Alley.

Out of breath now, Harry saw a gap between two buildings up ahead.  He should be reasonably safe there – it wasn't easily visible from the street.  He called out for his friends to follow him.  No answer – perhaps they were just as exhausted as he.

He ducked into the alleyway and looked behind him, hoping to flag down his friends.  Instead, his heart sank.

Ron and Hermione had disappeared.

--

Author's Note: This is chapter one of what'll hopefully be a thirteen-chapter songfic.  It's a fairly rough draft, and so may change in the future.  I've finished up through chapter three, and'll probably put those chapters up in the near future.  After that, I'll see whether the response merits continuing on with the remaining chapters.


	2. Tonight He Grins Again

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The song is from the rock opera Streets, performed by Savatage, lyrics by Paul O'Neill.  No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  Also, this fic contains references to fairytales and other fanfics – see if you can catch them all. 

--

**Chapter 2  
Tonight He Grins Again**

*****

__

Nighttime again  
Seems I'm my only friend  
Wander the streets alone  
The lost in search of his own

"Ron?  Hermione?" Harry called out tentatively.  Where had his friends gone?  They had been right behind him.  Now they were off somewhere in Knockturn Alley, with an angry Malfoy after them.  All while Harry skulked around in an alleyway.

He poked his head out and looked around.  The street was deserted.  Should he walk around and search for them?  Or stay put and hope they'd find him?

The darkness of the alleyway wrapped itself around him, concealing him from the street.  That was why he'd picked this hiding place – it offered safety from whatever was pursuing him and his friends.  But now it meant that his friends wouldn't find him, not while he stood in this little crack and they wandered the streets.  He'd have to take his chances out there.

He peeked out once more to make sure it was safe, and wandered out onto the street.  Where would they go?  Neither of them had ever been to Knockturn Alley; they wouldn't be familiar with the landmarks.  All they'd seen was the road from Diagon Alley to Borgin and Burkes.

Could they have made it back to Diagon Alley?  That was a hopeful thought – maybe they were safe in the Leaky Cauldron and he just had to find his way out of here.  But in his heart, Harry doubted that.  The first time he'd ended up in Knockturn Alley, Hagrid had had to practically drag him out.  Even now, on his third visit, he still got lost in the maze of twisting pathways.

Hermione was right; it _had_ been irresponsible of him to drag them out to explore.  If only he'd listened, they'd all be asleep by now, dreaming of tomorrow's trip back to Hogwarts.  

But it was pointless to worry about what might have been.  He was here, lost in Knockturn Alley, and so were his friends.  His task now was to find them.

He rounded a corner, finding himself on a broader, brighter road.  This area looked familiar – had he passed here before?  _All I need is to start walking in circles,_ he thought.

_Lumos_, he uttered.  If anything nasty was still on the loose, it would have attacked him long before.  His wand lit up, illuminating the nearby store sign.

"Sylvia's Spirit Shop," it read.  He'd ended up back where he came in!  Yes, there was the spider shop down the street.  A sudden thought occurred to Harry – the only place where Ron and Hermione had spent any length of time was the alley besides Borgin and Burkes.  Maybe they'd found their way back there, and were just waiting for Harry.  He broke into a run, heading down the street towards the alleyway.

*****

__

Once again I've played the clown  
Used my friends and let them down  
Walk the streets just staring out  
Late at night the strange come out

Hermione and Ron weren't there; the alley was just as deserted as the streets outside.  Harry stood in the gray darkness for a while, thinking of where to look next.  If they weren't here, they could be anywhere.  It seemed as if Harry had been wandering for hours, and still hadn't found them.  He might walk around in circles for the rest of the night and still not find them.

Maybe it was best just to stay put and wait for them to run across him.  He could cast a light spell and wait just outside the alleyway for them to walk by.  Assuming, of course, that the light didn't attract some of the more unpleasant denizens of Knockturn Alley.  The thought sent a thrill of fear through Harry.

He leaned against the wall of Borgin and Burkes', gathering his thoughts.  Strangely, the wall seemed to give a little.  Harry stood up straight again – the wall seemed to bounce back.  He ran his fingers over it.  A crack – unobtrusive, but noticeable upon inspection – ran all the way around a door-sized area.  Someone had wanted a side entrance, but didn't want it to be too conspicuous.

He pushed gingerly on one end of the door.  Nothing.  He moved to the other side, and pushed again.  This time, the door moved a couple of centimeters, but then seemed to catch on something.  Tapping it with his wand, he whispered _Alohomara_, and pushed harder.  

The door opened into a dark, dingy room.  Harry peered in, his eyes straining against the dark.  Cobwebs laced the ceiling, their makers fleeing from Harry's lit wand.  Shelves lined the walls, holding all sorts of arcane magical items.  An ancient suit of armor stood by the entrance, a sentinel guarding the collection.  Apparently, he had stumbled across the back room of Borgin and Burkes.

He entered the shop, closing the door behind him.  The floor creaked, making Harry stop in his tracks for fear of being discovered.  When he had convinced himself that nobody was coming, he walked over to the near wall, examining the merchandise.

The shelves held a wide variety of objects, some ordinary, some disturbing.  Various sorts of candles seemed common; Harry wondered if Borgin and Burkes competed with the shop down the road for business.  A silver chalice sat on a shelf at about eye-level, filled with a dark red liquid.  The bottom shelf had a complete set of bones – this must have been where the femur Lucius had bought came from.  There was something else on the bottom shelf, a small pinkish object in a jar.  Harry knelt down to examine it…

…and then jumped back in recognition.  It was a tongue, still glistening with saliva.  Apparently, it's owner had gotten a little too sassy, and now his vocal instruments were for sale on the black market.  Harry moved to the center of the room, hoping that the larger objects there would be slightly less disgusting.

A spinning wheel sat, forlorn, on the floorboard, its pedals tied to the floor with a thin web of spider's silk.  A couple blades of straw littered the floor around it.  The spindle was wound with fine golden thread, but something inside Harry told him that this thread had bankrupted far more lives than it had enriched.  Despite this, Harry suddenly felt himself being drawn to the wheel.  He glided forwards, and was about to sit and spin when he caught himself.  Why would a spinning wheel have this affect on him?  He'd never done anything domestic in his life, unless being blamed for ruining Dudley's breakfast counted.  Gathering his willpower, he pulled himself away from the wheel, moving over to the opposite side of the room.

An ornate, full-length mirror stood in the corner.  It reminded him vaguely of that oh-so-annoying kibitzer back in the Leaky Cauldron, but something about this one told Harry that it held more than innocent suggestions.  Perhaps it was the obvious age of the mirror, or maybe it was the sparkling clarity of the glass, a sharp contrast to the tarnished metal frame.

Harry gazed deep into his reflection, his wand casting an eerie glow upon himself.  He was just an ordinary boy of thirteen, perhaps a little taller than he was used to, but still Harry.  He had the same green eyes, same unkempt black hair, same lightning bolt scar that he'd always had.  Nothing unusual – it was just an ordinary mirror.

And then he … changed.  It was almost imperceptible, perhaps just a slight flickering of the light.  Harry blinked, trying to pinpoint what was wrong.  It couldn't be anything obvious – he still had the same green eyes and same black hair, though it seemed a little tidier.  But something was different.  Very different.

The boy in the mirror looked older, more worldly.  He had a shadowed cast to his eyes, as if he'd suffered through much and only managed through sheer willpower to pull through.  But his face betrayed a haughty arrogance, an expression of pride and superiority.  The eyes flickered with amusement, an expression Harry doubted his own face was showing.

Recognition dawned on Harry.  He'd seen this face before, and not in some mirror.  The diary.  He was looking at Tom Riddle!  But how? … this was a mirror, not a picture.  It should reflect Harry and Harry only.  He had to get away, had to leave this place of cursed magical items!

The mirror rooted him to the spot.

Something moved in the mirror, a slight twitch.  Could Harry have flinched?  No, he'd been absolutely still.  The reflection had moved by itself.  Harry's mouth opened, a gasp of surprise.  His reflection merely smiled.

And then, it began to speak.

*****

__

Time, time, time again  
I'm just looking for a friend  
But no one seems to be around  
Just this monkey that I've found  
Still he is my only friend  
And tonight he grins again  
Tonight he grins again

"Well, it's Harry Potter," the Riddle-reflection sneered.  "The Boy Who Lived.  That error will be rectified soon enough."

"I killed you in the diary last year!" Harry spat, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.  "You've got no power to do anything."

Riddle chuckled softly.  "You'd be surprised.  There's a bit of me in everyone, and I've never been unable to find someone to do my bidding."

"Then why have you been less than alive for all of these years?" Harry retorted.

"Biding my time.  I've been waiting for just the right circumstances to return to a body.  But now, the pieces are almost in place.  It is time to set my plan in motion."

A thrill of fear ran through Harry.  Voldemort had tried to come back to life once before, in Harry's first year at Hogwarts, and Harry had only escaped because of his mother's sacrifice.  If Voldemort set a henchman on Harry, he'd be dead for sure.

Defiance rose in Harry, a strong desire to keep Riddle from having the last laugh.  "You're bluffing," Harry said.  His voice was scarcely more than a whisper, but just hearing it gave Harry confidence.

"Am I?  It's no coincidence that Sirius Black is on the loose.  He was my most faithful Death Eater, the one that brought about the deaths of my most despised enemies.  He has a special place in his heart for you, you know.  I'm sure that he'd love to meet you."

Sirius Black?  In league with Voldemort?  Harry had known that Black was an evil person – nice men don't kill thirteen Muggles with one curse – but had never guessed that he might currently be communicating with Voldemort.  He thought that the Death Eaters had all dispersed after Voldemort's defeat, their organization falling to pieces.

As if he could read Harry's thoughts, Voldemort continued: "Yes, Harry, I still maintain contact with my loyal servants.  They haven't outlived their usefulness to me yet.  One of them may end up bringing me back to life."

"Black's a wanted convict.  The moment he shows his face, he'll be carted back to Azkaban.  No way you'll be able to use him."

"It doesn't have to be him, Harry.  Black may have been my right-hand man twelve years ago, but this time around, it could be someone else.  It could be your teachers.  It could be your friends.  Hell, Harry, it could even be you."

Harry sputtered with indignation.  "I'd never work for you!  I'd kill myself and everything I hold dear first!"

Riddle just laughed.  "That may very well be the case.  Just like a Gryffindor, to throw away his life for his principles.  You'll find that you can't get rid of me that easily.  We're linked – two great wizards bound by a curse that failed.  As long as you live, you'll carry part of me inside of you.  Remember that, Harry.  Remember that when you think up your next scheme against me, your next path to revenge."

Harry had a nasty retort ready.  He didn't get far into his tirade, though, when he realized the reflection was just echoing his words.  The mirror had gone silent.

*****

__

It's cold this pain  
It's burning inside my veins  
I walk away  
A shadow of Dorian Gray

Harry looked at the mirror.  It seemed perfectly ordinary; his familiar reflection stared out at him.  Nothing at all out of place.

He stood there, open-mouthed.  His reflection gaped right back at him.  He waved his hand.  His reflection waved back.  He reached out with his right hand and touched the mirror.  His reflection's left hand met his right, fingers pressed together.

Could he have imagined the whole thing?  Harry didn't think so – it was much too vivid to have all been in his mind.  He was still shaking, besides – couldn't his imagination have dreamed up something a little less frightening?

Black and Voldemort – he should have known they were connected.  Only a high-level Death Eater would kill thirteen innocent Muggles.  And now he was after Harry.  What would this mean for the coming school year?

Nothing, he told himself.  Better just to forget the whole business.  Hogwarts was the safest place he could be, and brooding over old enemies would just make him miserable.  Besides, there really was nothing to worry about.  Voldemort wouldn't dare strike at Harry while he was on the Hogwarts grounds.  Since he couldn't go to Hogsmeade, he'd be completely safe all of the time.

He tried to convince himself of this as he walked out the storeroom door.  Something about the mirrors words made this very difficult – beneath the lies (and Harry certainly hoped they were lies!) were statements that rang true.  But Voldemort couldn't be coming back – he was just a shadow of his former self, a being more dead than alive.  The whole mirror business was so complicated.

Harry wished he was back in the safety of his Leaky Cauldron room.

He couldn't explore Saikik Alley now.  There was way too much on his mind.  He just wanted to find Ron and Hermione and head back.  He started down the street, looking for them.

*****

__

Once again I've played the clown  
Used my friends and let them down  
Walk the streets staring out  
Late at night the strange come out

And there they were, just a few stores down.  Hermione saw him first, glimpsing the light of his wand.  She called out his name and ran towards him, embracing him in a bear hug so tight that Harry thought he would die of asphyxiation.  Ron was not far behind, and only slightly more reserved.

"Harry!  Where were you?  We've been searching all over for you!" Hermione exclaimed.

"…which would have been much easier if we'd had a guide," Ron added.  "These streets seem to twist around in knots – if it hadn't been for my expert navigation, we would have been lost long ago."

Something about Hermione's glance told Harry that Ron's navigation had been all but expert.

"Never mind that," Ron said hastily.  "Now that we're back together, let's go exploring."

"Er, Ron," Harry ventured, "I can't find the entrance."  It was a lie – but a lie with a grain of truth, for Harry wasn't sure that he'd be able to make it back to the cul-de-sac where he'd first found Saikik Alley.  But he certainly didn't want to continue stumbling through Knockturn Alley.  All he wanted was to return to the safety of the Leaky Cauldron, where he could contemplate his encounter with Tom Riddle in peace.

"Aww, Harry," complained Ron.  "All that trouble, and you just want to head back?"

"Maybe next year.  I just don't think it's a good idea to be out here after dark."

"Since when did you become all Hermionic?" taunted Ron, prompting a sharp "Hey!" from Hermione.  "Besides, if you can't find it now, what's the chance that you'll remember next year?"

"Ron," Hermione said softly.  "Harry's right; we should be getting back.   We've been gone a couple hours now, and if anyone notices, we'll be in a whole lot of trouble."

"Come on Hermione, can't you think of anything besides rules?  Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Ron, please," said Hermione, her voice tense and strained.  _She wants to get back even more than I do_, Harry thought.

"Oh all right," Ron said.  He didn't seem too happy about it, though.

The three of them walked back to Leaky Cauldron, Ron grumbling all the way.  It hadn't, however, been a completely wasted trip, thought Harry.  They'd witnessed Lucius engaged in Dark Arts dealings, and had found out about several new magic items.  If only they knew what he would be using them for – Harry hoped he didn't have yet another person after his life.  At least parents weren't allowed to visit their kids at Hogwarts – if Lucius showed up on the grounds, he would be on official school business, and likely escorted.  No, Mr. Malfoy was not the worst of Harry's worries.

Harry's thoughts returned to the mirror.  He wished he could forget the whole incident, but that seemed impossible.  Had he really seen Riddle as his reflection?  Harry shivered to think of it.  At least they were out of Knockturn Alley.  He'd be able to think more clearly when he was in a nice, warm bed.

*****

__

Time, time, time again  
I'm just looking for a friend  
No one seems to be around  
Just this monkey that I've found  
Still he is my only friend  
And tonight he grins again  
Tonight he grins again

Back in his room, Harry sat up in bed, his thoughts a maelstrom of activity.  It was past midnight, but he couldn't sleep.  Riddle's face had swum before his vision until he felt like he was losing his mind.  He needed someone to talk to, but everyone else had long retired for the night.

Well, there were a couple of other sentient beings in the room, even if they weren't exactly alive.  But the mirror and fireplace had been silent since his return.  Harry wondered if magical objects had to sleep.  How could he get their attention?

He crawled over to the edge of his bed and faced the wall.  "Mirror, mirror, on the wall," he tried.

The mirror seemed to stir ever so slightly.  "Sorry Harry, you're definitely _not_ the fairest of them all," it replied, it's voice slurred and disinterested.  "Did you actually have something to ask me, or did you just wake up and decide to for kicks?"

It worked!  Harry had thought that people only said that in fairy tales.  Now how was he going to phrase his question?

"Do mirrors ever get possessed?  You know, show something other than the person looking at them?" Harry asked.

The mirror lay silent for a while.  Harry was about to try and clarify his question when it answered.  "We can, but it takes powerful dark magic.  Aside from talking mirrors like me, we usually just sit there and reflect.  Even talking mirrors try to avoid distorting the picture they illustrate – we're supposed to show the truth and nothing but the truth.  Most cases of mirror possession are really just people who see something they don't want to.  Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just curious," Harry replied.  This didn't clear things up much, but he didn't want to press the issue.  

The mirror didn't seem satisfied.  "Does this have anything to do with Sirius Black being after you?" it asked.

"How did you know about that?"  As far as Harry could remember, he hadn't shared any of what he'd overheard with the mirror.

"Word travels fast around here.  Mr. Fireplace heard it over the Floo network from his friends downstairs, and he told me.  Fireplaces are well-known gossips.  Anyway, does it?"

Harry groaned inwardly.  How many of his conversations here had been repeated throughout the wizarding world by now?  He didn't feel much like talking now – but the mirror wouldn't be blown off.  Easily, at least.

"No, this doesn't have anything to do with Sirius Black.  It's really none of your business."

"You can't let it get to you Harry.  Just because you've got a convicted mass murderer after you doesn't mean you're going to die.  Although you _do _have a knack for making enemies.  There's You-Know-Who, the Malfoys, plus a whole bunch of other people that the fireplace wouldn't let me tell you about."  The mirror paused, suddenly realizing just what it was saying.  "Oops, did I say to much?"

Harry was getting _very_ annoyed with this mirror.  "I'm _not_ going to be murdered," he said.

"That's the spirit, dear," replied the mirror's sleepy voice.  Harry climbed back into bed, his anger towards one mirror displaced by anger to another.  His thoughts whirled from one mirror to another to Lucius to Black to Riddle to Voldemort, until he fell into a sleep filled with uneasy dreams.

--

A/N: Thanks go to my only reviewer, Fidelis Haven.  Chapter 3 should be coming out tomorrow or the day after.  Watch for it!


	3. Strange Reality

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The song is from the rock opera Streets, performed by Savatage, lyrics by Paul O'Neill.  No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  Also, this fic contains references to fairytales and other fanfics – see if you can catch them all. 

--

****

Chapter 3  
Strange Reality

*****

__

Who's this before me  
Dressed in rags, soaked in gin  
Is it a sign or a warning  
Am I now where he's been

Harry sat in a cluttered storeroom, crouched between two shelves.  His back was stiff, as if he'd been huddled up in this position for a long time.  In his hands he held a silver chalice, half full with a dark red liquid.  Harry glanced downwards – a dark stain spread across his clothes from the neck downwards.  He gasped.

Before his eyes, the chalice started to refill.  Within a few moments, it was full again.  What kind of Dark Magic was this?  Harry flung the chalice against the far wall.  It bounced off with a soft 'ping', and fell to the ground.  Harry curled up in a fetal position, shying away from the dark shapes littering the storeroom floor.

How did he get here?  What was that dark liquid?  Blood?  Harry shuddered, thinking of how it had come to be all over his clothes.  He couldn't remember anything – it was as if his existence had begun in this dark room.  He wanted to leave, but had no idea how.

A mirror stood before him now, ornate and full-length.  He glimpsed his reflection in it, a boy with untidy black hair and a dark v-shape on his chest.  Harry blinked.  The mirror now showed a boy a couple years older than Harry, the hair slicked back neatly, but otherwise having many of the same features.  No, now it was a grown man, a man that had haunted Harry's dreams for years.  

"So, Harry, it's you again," the man said.  Harry opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.  "Going mad, are we?  Not sure what's real?"  The man's lips weren't moving, but Harry heard his words loud and clear.  A name flickered into Harry's consciousness, wavered for a moment, and then firmly formed itself.  Voldemort.  How could he not have recognized him?

Voldemort continued his taunting.  "Look at me Harry.  I'm real.  More real than you could ever dream," his tone just one notch below the 'maniacal cackle' level.  He stepped out of the mirror.  

Harry shied away, pressing his back up against the walls.  He fumbled around for his wand – he'd remembered to bring it, right?  This pocket … no, that one.  Terror gripped Harry as he realized he was completely defenseless.

"You won't escape me this time, Harry," Voldemort went on.  "This is every nightmare you've ever had, every dream gone wrong, and now your dreams will come back to consume you!"  He pulled out his own wand, the twin of Harry's, and pointed it at Harry's chest.

Through the roaring in his ears, Harry heard Voldemort mutter something that sounded very much like _Abbra__ Caddabra_.  There was a flash of green light, and then the world shattered.

*****

__

Am I losing my way  
Strange insanity  
It's an illusion away  
This reality  
You know that could be me

Harry found himself on a darkened street, apparently in an ordinary Muggle neighborhood.  He was walking, but had no idea where he was going.  His legs just seemed to carry him along, a passenger along for the ride.  Why was he still alive?  That green light had haunted his dreams for thirteen years; his parents had died from it.  Voldemort's wand had been pointed straight to his chest.  He should be dead too.

Or was this death?  Harry felt oddly disconnected, as if he wasn't really attached to his body.  A fuzzy barrier interposed itself between his awareness and his thoughts.  He was a silent observer, watching himself from outside, yet not really outside at all.

Harry glanced down at his legs.  They seemed far too long – he must have grown.  He willed them to stop – he wished he could pause just a moment to gather his thoughts.  They kept moving, one foot in front of the other, seemingly oblivious to Harry's commands.

He wished he had a mirror – an ordinary one, unlike that cursed storeroom piece.  Something didn't seem right, and he wanted to see his appearance.  Maybe that would offer clues on why his body didn't do what he told it to.

He'd rounded the corner onto someone's walkway now, and was headed toward the front door.  His arm reached out, ringing the doorbell.  "Just a minute," came a female voice from inside.  He looked in through the glass beside the doorframe.  His reflection chilled his soul.

He was Lord Voldemort.  Voldemort, as he had appeared during the height of his power.  The body he now inhabited was the same one that had killed his parents.  

The door opened.  A woman with shoulder-length, curly brown hair stood at the threshold.  She took one look at Harry, and her eyes widened in terror.  She screamed.

Harry's hand moved involuntarily to his wand.  His arm rose, wand pointed at the woman.  He struggled to force it down, to drop the wand, but his muscles wouldn't obey.  "_Crucio_," he heard himself say.  The woman collapsed in the doorway, writhing in agony.

"What's wrong honey?" came a male voice from upstairs.  Harry desperately wanted to leave – if that man came down, there'd be more torture – and perhaps murder – here tonight.  _STOP_, he thought, but to no avail.  A low chuckle escaped his lips.

The husband had now reached the bottom of the stairs, and was running towards Harry, his wand ready.  Harry felt himself laugh and face the new opponent.  He wondered why Voldemort didn't put a _stupefy_ or _petrificus__ totalus_ curse on the woman, but quickly saw that she was in no condition to attack him.  He pointed his wand at the man and lazily muttered "_Crucio_."  Soon he had joined his wife in her agony.  Their screams echoed through the house, rattling the windows.

Harry was in a different house now, though the scene looked very similar.  Two adults lay on the floor, pleading for mercy.  The woman hugged her bloated abdomen – another life to Voldemort's tally.  There was a child, too, a little four-year-old girl sitting by the window.  She was crying silent tears, her thumb in her mouth.  Harry moved over to her.

"Let this be a lesson to all those who oppose the Dark Lord," he heard himself saying.  "Your faith, your trust, your _goodness_" – he spat the last word, twisting it into something contemptuous and pitiable – "will not protect you.  And in the end, it's always the innocent who pay the price!"

He pressed his wand against the little girl's head.  She flinched, and her eyes widened in fear, but not a whimper escaped her.  _No_, Harry thought.  _Not her!  Please don't make me kill a child._  He knew, however, that his pleas would be futile – this was only one of the hundreds of children Voldemort had killed.  He tried to shut his eyes, but they too wouldn't obey him.

"_Avada Kedavra_," he said.  In this body, the words rang loud and clear through his consciousness.  There was a flash of green light, the girl slumped forward…

…and Harry found himself standing over another baby's crib.  This one couldn't be much more than a year old, and had a little tuft of black hair on the top of his head.  His mother lay sprawled out on the floor, her sightless eyes frozen in an expression of devotion.  Voldemort must already have done most of the dirty work here, but Harry didn't relish the thought of witnessing another baby's death.  Please, oh please, when would this be over?

This time, Voldemort's touch was far lighter, more like a fairy godmother than an angry gangster.  He tapped the infant lightly on the forehead with the wand.  "You would have made a good Slytherin," Harry heard himself say, in an almost brotherly tone.  "Too bad your parents were so dead-set against me.  If only I'd been able to bend them to my will.  Alas, I can't let such a powerful rival live."

He gazed down into the baby's crystal green eyes.  It was almost like looking into a mirror, a mirror that cut across the bounds of time and space.  Harry knew this face, knew this body, far better than the one he was currently trapped in.  But what would happen when his current-self killed his former-self?  His mind tied itself in knots, thinking of the possible problems.

"_Avada Kedavra_," Voldemort-Harry said softly.  A flash of green light, a searing pain, and then the world went black.

*****

__

Wake every morning  
I don't know where I've been  
All my excuses  
Showing strain wearing thin

He was in the boys' dormitory at Hogwarts.  The pre-dawn light filtered through the windows.  None of the other boys were awake yet.  Harry rolled out of bed and looked into his mirror, hoping he wouldn't see Voldemort's face.  He didn't – his reflection was pure Harry, the same as it always had been.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a while, thinking.  It must have been a dream – he hadn't really been Voldemort, hadn't done all those terrible deeds.  He was awake now, or so he hoped.  He pinched himself just to make sure.  Yep, he felt it.  Back to reality…

He walked over to Ron's bed and shook him.  "Ron," he whispered.  "Wake up, I need to talk to you."  He needed someone to mull over his dream with him, see if it meant something.  Ron and Hermione were the only ones he felt he could trust with something this disturbing, and he doubted the girls would appreciate him sneaking into their dormitory at night.

"Ron," he tried again.  "Ron, please wake up, I need you."

"Go back to sleep and quit shaking me, Harry," Ron murmured.  "Whatever it is, it can wait till morning."

Harry decided to try another tack.  "Ron, if you don't open your eyes this minute, I'll tell Hermione you wear fluffy bunny pajamas and sleep with a stuffed armadillo."

Ron's eyes flickered open.  "The pajamas are hand-me-downs from Percy and the armadillo belonged to Charlie," he muttered.  "What's so important that you had to wake me up before dawn?"

"I had a dream," Harry replied.

"So?  Everybody has those.  Or was this another one of those Draco-wants-to-shag-me-and-I-can't-say-no dreams?"

Harry blushed.  Evidently, it hadn't been the best idea to tell him _that_ dream.

Ron misinterpreted his silence.  "I thought so.  Anyway, you can tell me all about it at breakfast."  He rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.

"Ron, wait, it wasn't like that at all."

"Go away Harry, you're bothering me."

A wave of rage rushed through Harry.  He raised his hand, though he wasn't sure what he planned to do.  He was surprised to find that it held a dagger, a carved obsidian stone embedded in the hilt.  "No!" he cried.  It couldn't be happening again.

Hearing Harry's cry, Ron rolled back onto his back and opened his eyes.  They didn't stay open for long, though, as the dagger plunged into first one and then the other.

Harry felt the pain immediately.  _Strange_, he thought, _Ron was the one who just had his eyes gouged out_.  But Harry felt the plunge of the knife into his eye sockets, a burning so intense that Harry almost blacked out.  _If I was conscious to begin with_.  Darkness closed in on him, enveloping him in its misty shroud.  He got around and felt around for the door, hoping to finally leave this nightmare.  His hand closed around the door handle, he jerked it open, and he felt light streaming upon his face.

*****

__

I look to the future  
With the eyes of the blind  
Can't see much further  
Than this haze in my mind

Harry wandered blindly away from his room.  Somehow, he knew that he was in a long, empty corridor, though no light reached his eyes.  Images imprinted themselves on his brain, images that seemed to have no basis in the senses, yet still managed to paint a blurry picture.  It was as if he was walking through thick fog, unable to see where he was going yet aware that he was about to hit something.

There were voices up ahead, speaking in hushed tones.  Too many to make out at first – it must be some sort of conference or meeting.  He shuffled closer, hoping to overhear some bits of conversation.

Suddenly, he found himself in the midst of the conversation.  The voices came from all around, surrounding him with sound.  A note of urgency colored them – whatever they were discussing, it sounded important.

"Whatever we decide, we must act quickly.  His power grows stronger by the minute, and if we delay, we may find that none of us are left to oppose him."  Hermione!  Her voice seemed older and more serious, though – it had dropped a little in pitch, and Harry thought he detected a hint of strain to it.  

"How many are still loyal to us, Hermione?" came a new voice, one that Harry didn't recognize.

"There's still the old crowd that Dumbledore assembled before his death.  A couple Gryffindors from my time at Hogwarts, too – Neville's been magnificent.  Most of the other recent graduates went over to his side without much resistance, and the older folk don't want to risk his wrath.  Blame Fudge for that – he keeps insisting that there's no danger, everything's being taken care of.  Most of the Slytherin's went over to his side, too – ironic, isn't it?  Draco's the one exception.  Evidently, his hatred of _him_ is greater than his loathing for us."

"Is there any chance of infiltrating his forces, attacking from the inside?"  This was Snape, speaking in the same mellifluous voice he had used as a teacher.  Somehow, it seemed less threatening in this setting.

"Not a chance," replied Hermione.  "He's too well protected, too well informed.  He'd know of any plot against him well before we could get someone in position.  Heck, he's probably listening to this meeting right now."

A chill ran through the air, stopping conversation for a moment.  Harry desperately wanted to know whom they were talking about.  Had Voldemort risen again?  Who else could have the power that Hermione described?  Perhaps she could explain what was going on here.

He coughed loudly, hoping someone would notice his presence.  Without his eyes, he didn't know exactly how far away he was from the gathering, but he doubted it could be far.  It was absolutely silent, and surely someone would hear him.  Still, no response came.  

"Hermione?" he called.  "Mind explaining what's going on?"

Evidently, she couldn't hear him.  When conversation started up again, nobody acknowledged his remark.  Was he just a shade here, an eavesdropper able to listen, but not participate?

He recognized the current speaker as Professor McGonagall, her voice haggard and weary.  "If only we could have got to him earlier, this might all have been prevented.  Who would have thought a Gryffindor could do such terrible things?"

There were murmurs of assent from around the table.  Whoever this person was, his betrayal had obviously surprised quite a few people.

"It surprised all of us, Professor," came a familiar voice from across the room.  Ron was here too!  Of course, he should have guessed.  Ron would be the first person to resist an evil force like this.

"Ron, you were his closest friend at Hogwarts.  Do you have any idea why he started down this path?"

Harry's head swam.  Closest friend?  Ron was _his_ closest friend.  Had they grown apart?  Or…

"He's hardly the same Harry I knew back then.  That Harry would have sacrificed himself for the world in a heartbeat.  Something changed back around third or fourth year.  It's tough to pinpoint exactly – it's like he did all the same things, but the reason behind them had changed.  Maybe he just got tired of playing the martyr, always suffering for the good of others.  But I think there's more than that."

"Harry didn't go bad until after Voldemort's defeat," he continued.  "Right up through our seventh year, he continued to fight against the Dark Lord.  It was an obsession for him, his entire purpose in life.  Sure, he had time for schoolwork, and he hung out with Hermione and me, but ever since about halfway through our third year, it seemed like his thoughts were elsewhere.  When Voldemort died, we had hoped that he'd be able to return to a normal life.  Unfortunately, that wasn't the case."

"It seemed as if Voldemort put some part of himself into Harry.  Instead of settling down, Harry's vengefulness increased, but now it had no easy target.  With Voldemort gone, Harry started raging against the wizarding world in general.  He felt like he hadn't been compensated adequately for the seventeen years of his life that Voldemort stole, and someone would have to pay the debt.  You remember him those last few months, Professor, don't you?  He wanted nothing to do with us.  It was like he had drawn himself up into a tight little shell."

"I lost contact with him when we left school.  He disappeared for a couple years, then showed up with a couple followers and a lot of new powers.  I'm sure you all know the rest."

Harry wanted to scream at Ron.  He would never follow Voldemort's path.  Never!  But what use would it be?  He was stuck in this gathering, unseeing and unseen, and nobody seemed to notice anything he did.  He would be the only one to hear his screams.  If only he could talk things over with Ron or Hermione – but they were just as oblivious to his presence as anyone else.  He wished with all his heart that they could see him.

*****

__

Am I losing my way  
Strange insanity  
It's an illusion away  
This reality  
  
You know  
That could be me  
Now that could be me

"Harry, you – you look terrible."

He was in the Gryffindor common room, looking into the faces of Ron and Hermione.  Ron was sitting on the rug next to a large pile of Peppermint Toad wrappers, and Hermione was awash in a sea of homework.  She was the one who had spoken, though she didn't look much better.  Her face seemed drawn and gaunt, with dark circles around her eyes.

"Why?  What's wrong with my appearance?" he asked.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look between them, reluctant to tell him.  Finally Ron said, "It's your eyes Harry.  They're gone!"

Harry moved his finger up to his eyes and gently tried to touch them.  Instead of hitting the lids or eyeballs, though, it went straight into his eye sockets.  He could see it all the way.

"I'm fine," Harry said hurriedly.  If they didn't remind him, maybe he could forget.

"Harry, listen, you must be really upset about what we heard yesterday," said Hermione.  "But the thing is, you mustn't go doing anything stupid."

Harry wondered what he had heard yesterday – not much seemed to be making sense.  "Like what?" he hedged.

"Like trying to go after Black," said Ron.

"You won't, will you, Harry?" added Hermione.

"Because Black's not worth dying for," finished Ron.

Black, Black … Harry had heard that name somewhere.  Hidden in the far recesses of his mind, Harry thought he remembered a newspaper article.  But that was all.  He couldn't remember what he had read, or what Black had to do with him.  

"Um, right-o," Harry mumbled.  "Mind reminding me why he would be worth dying for again?"

Ron's eyebrows arched in surprise.  "You mean you don't remember?  One of Voldemort's top supporters is trying to kill you, and you've forgotten all about it?  If it was me, I'd hunt him down myself."  He seemed caught off guard, as if he'd been all prepared to talk Harry out of something and suddenly found himself arguing the other side.  He squirmed uncomfortably and tried to change the subject.  "Look, it's the holidays!  It's nearly Christmas!  Let's – let's go down and see Hagrid.  We haven't visited him for ages!"

For whatever reason, Hermione didn't like this idea.  "No!  Harry isn't supposed to leave the castle, Ron" - 

But the thought of talking to Hagrid seemed somehow comforting to Harry.  Maybe he could shed some light on why everything was behaving so strangely.  He spoke, gently but firmly.  "No, let's visit Hagrid."

They headed out of the common room and made there way out of the castle.  Outside, a dark bank of cloud had obscured the sun, casting everything in shadows.  The three of them walked down the grassy path to Hagrid's hut.

*****

__

Another day  
Another night  
Somehow it's all the same  
Another drink  
Another fight  
Still I play the game

Suddenly the grass below them disappeared, replaced by cold hard stone.  The path was loose gravel now, and it made an ugly scratching noise as they walked on it.  The familiar Hogwarts environs had disappeared, but Ron and Hermione didn't seem to notice.  They walked onwards, as if nothing had happened.

"Um, guys?" Harry mumbled tentatively.  "I don't think we're in Hogwarts anymore."

"We're off to see a wizard.  Just follow the yellow brick road," came Ron's dry reply.  His voice sounded mechanical and toneless, with all the life sucked out of it.

Yellow brick road?  The path was neither yellow nor brick; it was a featureless grey, in fact.  Harry just shrugged.  "If you say so."  He'd just have to hope there was nothing seriously dangerous at the end.

The land sloped upwards here, and Harry noticed that his friends had fallen behind.  He turned around, looking for them, only to find that they had disappeared.  He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, disorienting himself but finding no trace of Ron or Hermione.

There were two shadowy figures up the hill though.  Harry doubted that these were the people he was looking for – they couldn't have gone that far.  Still, someone was out there, and this piqued Harry's interest.

He started towards the figures, taking care not to make too much noise.  Closer in, he noticed that one seemed to have the outline of a man, while the other was an unusual combination of a horse and a bird.  He seemed to recognize the man, though he couldn't tell immediately who it was.  He pressed onwards, hoping to get a better look.

Lord Voldemort!  Harry was sure of it now – this figure had haunted his dreams for a lifetime.  His sense of danger warned him to go back, but some perverse curiosity nudged him forward.

__

So strange  
So strange reality

Harry heard muttered cursing up ahead, followed by a loud _Squawk!_  Apparently, the man and the horse-bird were engaged in a struggle, and neither particularly liked the other.  Voldemort had a long rip down the sleeve of his robes, but otherwise seemed unharmed.  The horse-bird was a fierce fighter, though.  Voldemort didn't seem to be using magic, and without it, Harry doubted he could beat the bird.

Before Harry's eyes, the horse-bird lunged at Voldemort, who was standing nearer the cliff.  Voldemort was quicker though – he dodged out of the way and somehow managed to get behind the horse-bird.  A quick shove sent it tumbling over the cliff.

Heedless of the danger, Harry broke into a run.  Something told him that he didn't want to look down into the ravine, but something even stronger compelled him to.  He was only a short distance away, and soon had reached the edge of the crevasse.  Miraculously, Voldemort – scarcely five meters away – was still unaware of his presence.

__

So strange  
So strange to me

Harry peered over the edge of the chasm.  He spotted the horse-bird easily – it lay sprawled on the rocky ground, limbs splayed in a most grotesque fashion.  From the unnatural angle of its neck, Harry doubted there could be any chance of it being alive.

Further down the gorge, a crumpled form caught Harry's eye.   His gaze flicked over the ravine bed.  There it was – a girl, her bushy brown hair spread out like a halo.  Beyond her was a boy, his red hair just barely visible in the dim light.  Neither moved.

"NO!" Harry cried.  How had they gone from his side to down there?  He hadn't seen anyone pass him on the road.  

He didn't have much time to ponder this, though, for Voldemort had heard his scream.  He was walking towards him now, a menacing look on his face.  Harry gave his friends one last, lingering glance.

__

So strange  
So strange reality

Before his eyes, a swarm of spiders came out of nowhere, covering his friends like a blanket.  He tried to tear his eyes away, but all he could do was watch, entranced.  He knew Voldemort was right behind him, but couldn't do anything about it.

The spiders had reached the horse-bird too now, and formed a quivering mass all over the ravine bed.  It was over in seconds.  The spiders receded as quickly as they came, leaving nothing but a pile of bones on the ravine bed.

__

So strange  
So strange to me

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and whipped his head around.  He was staring into the face of Lord Voldemort.  Voldemort's eyes betrayed cold hatred, mixed with – amusement, was it?

"You're next," Voldemort said, and he gave Harry a little shove.  Harry stumbled forward a bit, then lost his balance.  He tripped on a rock and felt the edge of the cliff pass by underfoot.  Then everything was lost in the sensation of falling.

The last thing he saw was Voldemort's toothless grin.

 --

A/N: Thanks to Flor Moreno and rabbit for reviewing.  Chapters might come out a little slower now, since I've run through my pre-written stock.  I've got 2 scenes to go before I finish chapter 4, plus revision time.  Also, I'll probably be getting a beta in the near future, which'll slow things down even more, although hopefully it'll result in the chapters being of higher quality.


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